


All Our Own

by sydkn3e



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Grieving Dean Winchester, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27564970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydkn3e/pseuds/sydkn3e
Summary: Cas is gone and Dean can't breathe.But he's never been one to give in. To give up.Certainly not when it comes to love.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a bit of a 15.19 coda...leading up to how I'd like to see SPN end. Or rather, one feasible way I can clown about SPN ending with canon Destiel. [ie the one where Dean saves his angel husband from the Empty and confesses his bisexual love for him]
> 
> My apologies, it starts a bit angsty. But I promise It's a happy ending. Leaves out both the weird shot of the brothers' hands when they have their strange celebratory beer and the slightly cringe montage sequence- takes place when the brothers return to the bunker directly after separating from Jack.  
> It'll be posted in full before Thursday!

Eileen is waiting at the bunker when they get back.

 _Good_ , Dean thinks, as he watches his brother wrap his freakishly long arms around Eileen’s tiny body and sob. _Good for Sammy. He deserves it._

He leaves them like that, giving them their privacy for the reunion he knows they both want and need to have. He hasn’t seen Sammy this happy since- well, he’s _never_ seen Sammy this happy, if he’s being honest with himself- and who is he to mock what they have anyway? It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t trade his life where he stood for Cas’s right now.

But no, that’s what the old Dean would’ve done. Not this Dean. Not the Dean Cas loved. And it would be insulting to Cas’s memory to place his own value so low. He knows that now.

The following weeks in the bunker are more than a little strange. It’s uncharacteristically quiet, which as it turns out, Dean hates. When Sam and Eileen are in their room, on the far hall from Dean’s, he can almost imagine that everything’s the same. That he and Sam have just come back from a successful hunt and Sam’s already asleep, and Dean...he’s in his room, sitting on his bed, trying to convince himself that this is the life he wants. Then he hears Cas’s footsteps in the hall and he knows he’s coming to him, each step closer has his heart rattling his ribcage and tears pricking his eyes and he just up and rushes to the door and pulls it open-

Only to shoot up in his bed gasping for breath, empty bottles clattering to the floor and his heart pounding so heavily Dean wishes it would just do him a damn favor and give out already, he’s had enough, he’s done. When he settles into bed again he counts the frantic heartbeats, trying to reason out how many of them it would’ve taken to say the words, so he knows how many damn times he should’ve said it back before he didn’t have the chance anymore. 

_I love you._

His heart races, pounds frantically. He can’t breathe.

_Goodbye, Dean._

His heart pounds, his chest aches. He squeezes his eyes shut and marvels at how many tears still manage to escape.

_Just give out already._

\----

It’s still overwhelming sometimes, especially when he’s alone, to consider the gravity of Cas’s affection for him. His _love_ for him. The sheer enormity of it, how vast and endless, unconditional and pure. 

Dean sees Sam and Eileen together and they’re great, complementing one another in a way that just works. He’s never really seen Sammy in love before- certainly not like this- but it looks good on him. He smiles, he laughs...and when he laughs, Dean can still see that snot-nosed kid who always had to be _so damn good_ he felt guilty for being the designated role model. They’re in love, and as happy as Dean is for them, his chest still clenches when he sees them trade soulful glances or gently touch when passing the syrup bottle across the breakfast table. That’s about all Dean sees, and he’s sure that’s intentional. He hates that they feel it has to be done, but he appreciates the effort.

He tells them he’s fine. And he’s really trying to be. He smiles and tells them goodnight, that he’ll see them in the morning, makes some crack about keeping the noise down, and retreats back to his room. Back to where he feels closest to Cas, where he feels most like himself. Where he doesn’t have to go through the motions, he can just be _him_ , because Cas has already seen all that messy horror show shit and he wants him anyway. He loves him anyway.

Back in his room, where Cas had healed him so many times before. Where they’d watched movies, pored over lore, talked about Jack or Sam. Where they’d had such personal conversations over a half full bottle of whiskey, Dean had almost told him how he felt a few times himself.

If only he had. He always thought no love was better than love lost...but now he wonders if that’s true. Because right now, it feels like even a day of loving Cas, Cas loving him, is worth anything. He’d _give_ anything. Anything.

Dean shuts the door and leans against it, head falling back to thud against the heavy wood. He takes deep breaths, in through his nose, out shakily through his mouth. The ever-present lump in his throat when he’s alone is rising, but he swallows it down, again and again. And, like every night, he prays.

_I...don’t know if you can hear me, Cas. This might be pointless, but I c- I can’t just leave things the way we did. That’s...no. I won’t. But I’m not tellin’ you a damn thing right now, not when you aren’t here in front of me, not when I can’t see you. I need you to fight, because I’m not done fightin’ for you. For us. Because what you did...that’s not fair. You didn’t even- I didn’t get a chance. And I’m gonna find a way to get you out, you stupid son of a bitch. I’ll believe it, everything you say I am, because you say I am. So wherever you are, don’t get too comfortable. I’m coming for you._

Dean almost expects Cas to be sitting in his usual chair by his bed when he opens his eyes, but same as every night, he’s disappointed. And same as every night, he allows himself just a few tears before pressing on, sitting up in bed for hours poring over spellbooks.

Now that everything is back in order God has no power in the Empty, so of course Jack is unable to help. But there is one thing Dean can’t seem to forget: it’s still possible to summon the Empty to Earth. And while the bunker surely doesn’t have anything of the sort- the Men of Letters assumed angels and demons also departed to Purgatory- Dean has a good idea who might.

\----

It’s been nearly two weeks since he stood in this room the first time, and despite it being decently cluttered, it feels, well...empty. But somehow  _ more  _ than empty, like Cas took all of the air out of the room with him when he was sucked into that vacuum, and with that any semblance of comfort. It’s cold, impersonal. Dean stares at the spot where  _ he  _ stood. But he can’t move, not yet. 

He sees his blade, the one Castiel had used for the sigil, laying open and bloody on a shelf just inside the door. Without a second thought, he snaps it closed and slips the familiar weight into his back pocket. 

Why is everything so loud here now? Every scrape of his boot across the floor, the clattering of the bowl he uses to mix the spell, the faint echo of ingredients being emptied inside. The room feels so large, large enough that Dean feels like his very breath echoes, his heartbeat,  _ lub DUB, lub DUB,  _ heavy and pained. 

He feels small.

He uses one of the archive daggers to slice his palm and he squeezes a fist over the bowl, squinting against the bright flash encompassed in white smoke. Fizzling and a small bang, and suddenly Dean’s surroundings are...somehow less unwelcoming than that godforsaken room. The one he can’t go one day without visiting, just in case.

Hell’s a bit nicer since the last time they visited. Someone’s swept the halls, at least. Rowena’s had them hang new lights, there’s significantly less dust. Dean chuckles softly at the thought of a five foot tall Scottish witch forcing some of Hell’s worst demons to dust the hallways. 

The metallic clang of a door opening and closing directs Dean’s attention down the main hall, where a demon in a black suit advances toward him, baring empty hands. Dean follows suit, then drops his hands back to his sides. 

“I need to see Rowena.”

The demon nods. “She expected you.” He steps aside, gesturing down the hall. “Through the doors.”

\----

“You did it.”

She’s sitting there in her throne, in her trademark red, the smug smile on her face widening as she lifts a glass to her lips. Dean stops a few feet in front of her, forcing what he could of a smile. He clicks his tongue.

“Well, Chuck’s alive. But he’s not God anymore.”

“You let him live?”

“Jack is the new God.”

Rowena stops mid-word, mouth frozen in an  _ o  _ shape. “The new...God?”

“I would’ve thought you’d heard about this already, bein’ Queen of Hell and all.’ He’s halfway teasing, and halfway unfairly pissed that she didn’t do more to help. He pushes on. “Listen, I need a favor.”

Rowena doesn’t even pretend she’ll say no, pressing her lips together as she nods once. “What do you need?”

“A spell,” Dean says, hesitating, pressing his tongue to his teeth, “to crack the Empty.”

Rowena gives a small, sad chuckle. “There’s no such thing, dear. If God doesn’t have power in the Empty, why do you think I would?”

“Not you,” Dean says, bracing himself. “Me.”

She gives an incredulous laugh. “You?”

Dean smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. All trace of humor leaves Rowena’s face. She stands, leaves her glass on the arm of the throne, and crosses over to him, heels clicking against the stone floor.

He stands a foot taller than her even with her heels, but it’s rare moments like these she makes him feel small. Rare moments when her humanity reminds her of what it was to be a mother- what it should have been when Fergus was alive. She reaches up to cup his cheek.

“It’s Castiel, isn’t it?”

Dean swallows at the sound of his name and tears prick his eyes, but he doesn’t blink. God, it’s the first time anyone’s said his name out loud since the day it happened. It’s like tearing into a fresh wound- a word, a sound, a name he’ll never be able to hear without his heart reacting. It’s up to him to choose whether the reaction will be negative or positive.

Rowena understands. She presses her lips together and nods once, subtly. “You know there’s only one type of magic that may be powerful enough to break through something as powerful as the empty.”

“Soul magic.”

“It’s dangerous,” Rowena warns. “But if there’s any way to power up a portal to another dimension…”

“He’s touched my soul,” Dean says. “Rebuilt it. He...if anything, anyone, can reach him, it’ll be me. That...bond.”

Rowena gives him a small, encouraging smile. “Well, follow me, then.”

\----

The spell is a surprisingly simple one to be so high risk. Rowena packages the ingredients he’ll need and gives him the spell, then sends him back to the bunker with the instructions to be careful, and perform the spell in the physical location Cas was snatched from.

When he’s finally standing in that spot again, though, the magnitude of what he’s doing hits him. Castiel, his rescuer, the angel who has saved his life over and over again, his best friend...he stood here and smiled as the darkness took him, so content with just telling Dean how good he is, and that he loves him. Dean doesn’t have to take any time to realize that he’s never experienced a love like that before; there’s no question about it. Cas died for them, time and time again, because he loved them. Because he loved  _ him.  _ Defied God’s own orders for him. If this works, Dean’s getting a second chance to make things right, and he’s not fucking it up this time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this makes sense because I just fuckin wrote and didn't think too hard about any of it...anyway it is unedited so if there's anything glaring let me know. Don't look too hard at plot shit...never been good with spells, etc. It's kinda dumb but the important thing is Dean and Cas so focus on that :D
> 
> More happy to come!

The last couple of ingredients for the spell are his blood, and something related to Cas. He figures between the handprint on his jacket, mirroring the one still etched on his soul...it will be enough. But for good measure, after he drains more blood from his palm with his knife, still caked with Cas’s blood, he tosses that into the bowl as well.

He’s on his knees where Cas stood when he lights the match and drops it, and it’s a good thing he is, because as soon as the bowl’s contents go up in flame his vision goes black, and he’s suddenly standing in the middle of nothingness.

He hears voices all around him, faint, but they feel swallowed up by the void too. He takes a few steps, quickening his pace as some of the voices grow louder, though none he recognizes, until…

Cas’s voice, deep and soft. Dean’s chest aches, his shoulder tingles. With wide eyes he presses forward, listening, finally beginning to hone in on his words the closer he gets to the sound. Then, he hears another voice. It’s...Sam.

“Got him?”

“Yeah,” he hears Cas reply. “Go ahead.”

As Dean approaches the memory, a thin golden rift stretches vertically in front of him, and Dean steps inside.

They’re in the bunker, sitting at the map table- Dean’s appeared on the landing himself. Dream Dean slumps onto the table with a beer still half clutched in his hand, Sam staggers drunkenly to his bedroom. Cas- seeing him almost takes Dean’s breath again- sits in a chair to Dean’s right, only a foot or so away. He’s always noticed Cas’s habitual closeness to him, but took it more as something that comforted Cas...and since it benefitted Dean as well, he didn’t complain. 

Now...it feels different.

He recognizes the memory; all of them winding down the night after they’d returned from Dodge City. It’s one he vaguely remembers- the empty bottles in front of him explain that- but judging by the look on Cas’s face, it’s a memory that means something to him.

“Come on,” Cas says, standing and helping Dean to his feet. He slings one of Dean’s arms over his shoulder and Dean leans heavily on him as they make their way to the hall. Dean follows them.

“Cas,” dream Dean says, tapping the hand thrown over his shoulder on Cas’s chest, “sorry I been so hard on the kid. He’s not s’bad. I t-tried before, but...couldn’t l-” he hiccups, “-look at him. First ‘cause of mom ‘n then ‘cause he remind’d me too much’a you.”

Dean’s heart could break at the look on Cas’s face then, how something so simple could make him smile, an emotion Cas shows all too infrequently. How had he never noticed it before? 

Cas squeezes his shoulder. “It’s okay, Dean. No one faults you for feeling what you feel.”

“ _ You _ don’t,” Dean says, in a rare moment of poignant self-assuredness he doesn’t even recognize in himself. “You nev’r have.”

Cas doesn’t respond; he presses his lips together the way Dean has much gotten used to, but he’d never read further into it before...perhaps, all this time, he was simply tamping down all the things he really wanted to say.

When they reach his room, dream Dean mutters something unintelligible and pushes off of Cas’s shoulder onto the door, turning the knob and stumbling inside. Cas waits just inside the door until Dean pulls himself into a sitting position on the end of his bed, and he makes the first move to leave.

“Where you goin’?”

“I...well, I promised Jack I’d watch Star Wars with him tonight. Guess I have a lot of catchin’ up  to do.”

Dream Dean holds his head in one hand, elbow resting on his knee, and he narrows his eyes at Cas. “Leavin’ me already? Damn, Cas, I jus’ got you back.”

Cas breath hitches in the slightest, but Dean can’t believe he hadn’t noticed it when it happened all the same.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean,” he promises finally, his voice steady and true.

_ Liar _ , Dean thinks automatically, but even that attempt to push off his real guilt fails when he realizes Cas probably _ does _ believe that. He knew the Empty would only take him when he was happy, and he’d convinced himself that he’d never had that, could never be happy, because he could never be with Dean. Cas loved him so much, and he really believed he could keep that promise because Dean didn’t feel the same.

“Good,” dream Dean grunts, and he falls back against his bed, snoring seconds after his body stills.

Cas stands there watching him for another few moments, then slowly moves to the bed and helps arrange Dean in bed and under the covers, even removing his shoes for him. Dean doesn’t remember this part at all and there’s nothing even remotely sexual about it, but his heart clenches, and he knows this is only the precipice of things Cas has probably done for him, without ever expecting anything in return. And then the damn angel went and fell in love with him, and he can’t even process regular love on a normal day, much less unconditional love from a celestial being who was never supposed to have feelings in the first place. No one could ever love him that much.

Except Cas did. And he does.

Dean speaks before he can stop himself. “Cas?”

Cas jumps slightly as he turns. His surprise quickly turns to stark recognition and he looks back and forth between the two Deans and sighs.

“Oh. It’s you again.”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Dean says, a small laugh coming out in a little huff. “I’m gettin’ you out of here.”

“Yeah,” Cas gives his own rueful laugh, his eyes flitting to the ground. “That’s what you said last time.”

“Last time? Cas, I’m- I’m real. It’s really me. It’s Dean.” Dean’s voice is getting desperate and he doesn’t care, because his heart is breaking every second he’s looking at Cas and not telling him what an idiot he is for ever thinking he couldn’t have what he wants.

“You say you’re Dean,” Cas says, his voice deep and defeated, “but you’re really just Empty.”

“No, Cas-”

“This is the best I’ll have,” Cas says brokenly, looking away from him now, back at the old projection. “There’s nothing for me back there, you’ve made that very clear. Let me just have this.”

“ _ Cas _ ,” Dean sobs desperately, “please, listen to me. Please.” He takes a step towards Cas, then another, and another, until he’s so close Cas has no choice but to look at him, and once Dean has his attention, he knows he won’t look away. 

How had he never noticed it before? 

All the time wasted, when the answer had been right in front of them the entire time.

“You thought I was gonna let you say all that to me and not give me a chance to tell you how I felt? You mean to tell me you haven’t heard my prayers? I...I swear I’ve dreamed about you. I’ve...I  _ felt  _ you. It was real,  _ we  _ were  _ always  _ real, Cas, and I need you to believe in us. Now more than ever, I need you to believe in us so I can bring you home.” Dean’s voice catches and he sucks in a shaky breath, his eyes glued to Cas’s blue ones and he raises his right hand to his left shoulder, laying it over the last place Cas touched him. He taps it softly. “I need you, Cas. I need you back with me. This isn’t the end of us.”

Cas tilts his head, lips slightly parted, forehead creased in thought. “Dean?”

“Yes, Cas.”

He’s still wary, but torn, wanting so badly to believe Dean when it’s clear his feelings about Dean are the primary ammunition for the Empty’s torture. 

“We got unfinished business,” Dean says, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t have you checkin’ out now.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, holding out a hand.

_ Lub DUB. Lub DUB. _

Another beat. Cas’s eyes never leave his. He warily takes Dean’s hand.

_ Lub DUB, lub DUB, lub DUB, lub DUB... _

“How do you know you can’t have me, if you never told me that’s what you wanted?”

Cas’s eyes widen and he tries to pull his hand away, but Dean holds it steady.

_ Lub DUB lub DUB lub DUB lub DUB lub DUB lub DUB… _

“Because you can, Cas. You can have me.”

_ LubDUBlubDUBlubDUBlubDUBlubDUBlubDUBlubDUBlubDUB… _

Cas inhales with a sob but before he responds, the walls drop around them. Dean falls to his knees as his ears begin to ring and he feels Cas covering his back, a fist twisted protectively into his jacket. When the room stops spinning and Dean opens his eyes, they’re back in the bunker, both of them splayed out in the floor. Dean scrambles to his feet and closes the space between himself and Cas, pulling him quickly to his feet. He’s barely got the angel on his feet when he grabs his lapels and forces him backward, giving Cas only enough time to hold to Dean’s jacket and keep himself upright. They hit the brick wall with a hard thud and Cas lets out a small  _ oof _ as he’s hit with Dean’s weight. 

Dean doesn’t let himself think. He presses their lips together, immediately deepening the kiss, in absolute awe of the way Cas just  _ lets _ him. Castiel, angel of the lord, is in love with him, and Dean can’t believe his goddamn luck. 

They’re both desperate; Dean’s white-knuckling Cas’s jacket, Cas is making soft noises as Dean kisses him, a sound so foreign and strange and yet...Dean’s completely transfixed. 

They’re more than a little bothered when they finally break apart, breathless, their foreheads pressed together, lips mere millimeters away from each other. 

Dean cups Cas’s cheek, brushes a thumb across his cheekbone. “You were right, Cas. It was real. We were always real. I’m sorry it took me this long to see it.”

Cas only barely smiles and Dean doesn’t understand how he never  _ noticed  _ before how fucking radiant it is, all for him. Because of him. 

Dean looks up to make sure Cas is looking at him when he says it. 

“I love you too, Cas.”

Cas’s smile widens. His watery eyes finally spill and he gives a half laugh, half sob. 

Dean grins. “C’mon. We have a lot of time to make up for.”


End file.
